Not Quite As Expected
by Aearwen22
Summary: They said that the friendship between Legolas Greenleaf, son of the Elvenking, and Gimli, son of Glóin, was unique. But those that said so didn't know what happened much later to their respective fathers.
1. A Proposal

The King looked up at a knock on his office door. The guard that entered at the call saluted immediately. "Sire, there is a Dwarf at the bridge, requesting to speak to you."

Thranduil frowned. Of all the times for this kind of interruption… "Did he say what his business with us involved?"

The guard's head shook slowly. "No, Sire. The only thing he said was that he wished to speak with the Elvenking."

"Did he give a name?" Despite himself, he was growing curious. Other than the contact before and immediately after the Battle of the Five Armies, the Dwarves of Erebor and the Elves of Eryn Lasgalen had managed to get along quite nicely on their own, without need for communications. Of course, there was the matter of his son becoming brother-of-the-heart with one of them during the latter days of the Ring War, but surely nothing had happened to either of _them_…

"On second thought, never mind. We will speak with this person. Escort him into the Hall, give him a suite in the guest wing - a _good_ one, not one at the far end of the wing…" Thranduil knew enough about the prejudices of his people that he added the qualifier deliberately and pointedly. "…and give him time to refresh himself before bringing him to us."

The guard pressed his hand to his heart and withdrew, and Thranduil returned to his tome of instructions that hopefully would address all possible areas of difficulty for the several months he would be gone. Weeks would be needed to travel the distance between Eryn Lasgalen and Ithilien and then back again, and although his Battle Master and Chief Counselor were perfectly capable of handling simple matters without instruction, it would be better to leave them some idea of the kinds of things they might have to face and how he expected them to address the issues.

He'd been composing this set of instructions in his head for the better part of a month, ever since he'd received the invitation to attend the official investment of his son with the lordship over the forests of Northern Ithilien, along with the elevation of the _edain_ son of the old Steward of Gondor as the Prince of the _edain_ in that land. Now that his own forests were well on their way to recovering from the devastating fires that had laid waste to whole areas, he had the luxury of considering travel in a land once more at peace. And he was curious to see these forests that drew his son away from his ancestral trees. As the time drew nearer that he would have to leave, he'd finally broken down and started writing down all the instructions that had occurred to him.

He looked up again when another knock sounded at his office door. A quick glance at the candle on his desk told the story: the better part of the afternoon had passed by in musing and composition. "Come!"

Another guard entered this time, and he had a very stiff expression on his face. "Sire, your guest is here to speak with you now."

Thranduil waved a graceful hand in the air. "Allow him to enter, Faeldur."

The guard pressed his hand to his heart and stood aside so that the short, stocky warrior, dressed in well-made Dwarven leathers stomped through the door. Thranduil's brows folded together; that face! Regardless the liberal sprinkling of silver threads among the dark brown, he was certain he'd seen it before. When the memory clicked into place, he narrowed his eyes and carefully returned his quill to the ink pot. Of all the nerve…

"With all due respect, Master Dwarf, we are very busy," he stated with clear impatience. "Please state your business."

"I am Glóin, son of Gróin," was the rumbling answer. "And I must say, I appreciate the luxury of the rooms assigned to me much better this time than the last, King Thranduil. You've mellowed."

Thranduil studied the one who faced him so boldly. "The last time," Glóin had said. So his memory had not failed him; this was indeed one of the small group who had entered his forest without permission – part of the group that he'd locked in the wine cellars in lieu of a dungeon, and which had eventually escaped his care in empty wine barrels set floating downriver. He _still_ needled Galion about that, every time the man tippled a little too much again.

"We are as we were when you and your fellows attempted to sneak your way through our woods," Thranduil replied testily. How dare he cast aspersions on the way he had dealt with strangers! "Perhaps, had you and your companions come knocking on our doors like legitimate visitors rather than sneaking around and frightening our people and drawing the attention of spiders with your rackets, you would have found our accommodations more to your liking then as well."

"Do you throw all who don't answer your questions properly into cells?" Glóin demanded.

"When they are hazards to the welfare of my people, we do." Thranduil snapped. He had to work very hard not to pick up the ink pot and quill and throw them at the insolent Dwarf. Instead, he took a moment to breathe deeply and try to calm down. "But this incident of which we both speak is now years behind us both. And certainly you have something else on your mind than to complain of your treatment the last time you were here, do you not?"

"Why are you talking like that?"

"Like what?" Thranduil was beyond incensed.

"Like you're a whole flock of Elves rather than just one, that's like what!"

Thranduil blinked. "We are the King here, and this is the way Kings speak."

"'This is the way Kings speak,' he says," Glóin mumbled to no one in particular. "This wasn't a good idea; I _knew_ it! I can't imagine what either Gimli or Legolas were thinking…"

"Legolas?" Thranduil was half out of his chair. "What have you to do with my son?"

Glóin looked up at him and huffed. "Oh, and _now_ you start speaking like a normal person. Have you given up your crown then?"

"We should have you thrown back into the cell where you were the last time," Thranduil snarled. "But first you will tell me what you have to do with my son!"

The Dwarf glowered at him. "_I_ have nothing to do with your son, but _my_ son sets great stock by his opinion. I'm certain this whole thing was probably Legolas' idea."

"What whole thing?" Thranduil thundered. "You speak in riddles and rudely too. You have yet to explain your presence here, and we grow weary of this."

"Fine. I am here at your son's suggestion, as told to me by my son…"

"_Your_ son?" Why, in the name of all the Powers, would Legolas… Thranduil's eyes opened wide suddenly, and his heart gave a hard thump. "Your son, his name is not Gimli, is it?"

"Is there any other Dwarf's son who's foolish enough to set stock in the ramblings of an Elf?" Glóin snapped at him.

"Sire?"

Both the Elvenking and his guest turned their heads in surprise, having forgotten that there was a witness to this exchange – a witness with his hand to the hilt of his sword. The interruption gave Thranduil an opportunity to think through his reaction a little better. The Dwarf said that he was here at the behest of both Gimli _and_ Legolas; it probably wouldn't go well if he didn't at the very least treat Gimli's father with a modicum of respect.

"All is well, Faeldur," Thranduil sighed and settled himself back into his chair. "It seems that we are gifted with a visit from the father of Legolas' declared brother-of-the-heart, so there is no need for that." The absolute last thing he needed was for Legolas to hear that Gimli's father had been skewered by one of the Hall guards. "Rather, if you would be so kind, could you go to the kitchens and bring us a pitcher of that ale we purchased a few years back, and a mug for our guest? No doubt Master Glóin thirsts after his long journey and would appreciate the relief," he added with a sigh.

The dark eyes beneath the Dwarf's bushy brows glinted merrily. "Ale would be much appreciated. My son told me that the hospitality in your Halls had improved since last I was here."

A visibly confused Faeldur saluted and left the office. "The last time you were here, we believe, you and your comrades managed to find a way out of our wine cellar that was quite... creative. We never had an opportunity to congratulate any of your party on your success when next we met." Thranduil reluctantly gestured toward the chairs that sat before his desk. "Please, make yourself comfortable."

Glóin's thick eyebrows rose sharply, and then he shook his head and parked himself in the indicated chair. "Thank you. I think…" He glared at Thranduil. "I can't tell if that was a compliment or a backhanded insult."

"You may take it as it was meant, Master Dwarf. Your escape _was_ creative, and it has given us ammunition with which to plague our valet in the years since. Galion has still quite the taste for our Dorwinion, although he tends to be more cautious and not imbibe while attending to his duties."

The discussion came to a halt when Faeldur knocked and re-entered the office, a pitcher of ale in one hand and stoneware mug in the other. He deposited the pitcher and mug on Thranduil's desk and then asked, "Will there be anything else, Sire?"

"Thank you, Faeldur. That will be all." Thranduil gave a shallow bow of the head in answer to the salute and then rose to pour the mug full of ale from the pitcher. He handed Glóin his drink while the guard exited the office and quietly closed the door behind himself. "We must admit – reluctantly, of course – that we found your son a very interesting person," he added, removing to a sideboard and pouring himself a liberal goblet of his Dorwinion. After all, it was late afternoon, and his instructions could wait for the morning to complete. Besides, he could use something to settle his nerves that had been so thoroughly frazzled. "According to Legolas, Gimli proved himself a most capable warrior, and has become a cherished companion to our son."

Glóin's heavy eyebrows worked, and then he chuckled. "Hmph. I'll wager you were as astonished and appalled as I was at learning of our sons' choices in companion. Admit it: I'm right, aren't I."

Thranduil hesitated, and then held out his goblet and tapped it against the mug. "You too, eh?" he commented with a wry grin and then sipped, enjoying the burn. It wasn't comforting to discover that the two of them actually shared the other's opinion after all.

"Did you give your boy a lecture too?" By the Powers! It looked as though the Dwarf was enjoying himself immensely all of a sudden, and Thranduil had to admit that he, too, was now finding this encounter stimulating. Glóin was a brazen soul, he had to admit, thoroughly under-impressed by the company he was with. And yet there was something about him…

Thranduil snickered. "I do not think 'lecture' to be quite the proper description of…"

Glóin barked a laugh that Thranduil found irresistible. "No, I suppose it isn't," he managed finally. "And I suppose your boy was just as determined and unshakeable as mine was, no matter what you said."

"Indeed." Thranduil nodded at the memory of the glint of steel in Legolas' gaze at the very thought of renouncing his friendship. "I think that if either of us intends to enjoy our sons' company in the future, we will have resign ourselves to seeing the other in their company, as often as not." He made his way back to his comfortable chair behind his desk and shoved the parchment instructions aside before leaning back. "However, despite our sons' friendship obliging a dialogue between Dwarf and Elf again, I still wonder what would bring _you_ here now. Speak, please, for unfortunately I truly am very busy..."

The Dwarf buried his nose in his ale for a moment, and then wiped at the foam caught in his whiskers with the back of a hand. "Yes, I suppose…" He gave the King a sharp look. "I want you to know that this is my son's idea, although Gimli tells me that Legolas leant his support to the suggestion…"

"Suggestion?"

"Yes." Another moment of silence passed while Glóin worked on his ale again. "By Mahal! I know not what either of them are thinking…"

Thranduil leaned forward. "Speak, please! Is something amiss?"

"No," Glóin replied slowly. "It's just that Gimli and Legolas seem to be of the opinion that you and I should journey together to Aglarond and Ithilien." He seemed to pause. "You _were_ intending to go to all the fancy doings there, were you not?"

"Well… I…"

Glóin took a long draught from his mug and grumbled, "Gimli insists that I make the trip, if for no other reason than to stop by his new home in Rohan, where he and several families of Dwarves from Erebor are producing some very fine gemstones."

"Rohan? Legolas said nothing of…" Thranduil leaned forward and began rifling through the papers on his desk, looking for the letter from his son. "His letter mentioned Ithilien only, I thought…" Finally his son's spidery handwriting came into view. He snatched it up and scanned it quickly. "'It would mean a great deal if you could be in Osgiliath by… ceremony in North Ithilien on…' I told you!" He glanced up, triumphant. "I see no mention of Rohan here… Wait…" He read on into the final lines. "'We shall all travel together then to Aglarond…' Where is this Aglarond?" He frowned at the nod from the Dwarf that indicated that _he_ knew where it was. "Well?" he demanded.

"Aglarond is the name of Gimli's colony in the mountains near Helm's Deep. That's in Rohan," Glóin sighed. He reached into his vest and pulled out a fold of parchment and opened it. "He says here, 'We both think that you two would benefit from traveling together, since you both will be going to the same places. You can keep each other company on the road, and perhaps get to know each other better.' See?" Glóin tapped the letter with a frustrated forefinger and then tossed it onto the desk, where Thranduil caught it up immediately. "I told you: not my idea."

Gimli's handwriting was even worse than Legolas', but then, Thranduil was far less acquainted with the Dwarven script than with the cirth or tengwar that was used in Sindarin. "Nor my idea of a good idea either," he replied, tossing the letter back to the desk. "Even if it were, Gimli told me that your kind does not favor riding, and I certainly have no intention on walking the hundreds of leagues between here and Osgiliath!"

"We don't tend to favor riding temperamental creatures three times taller than ourselves, no," was the arched reply. "But I wouldn't object to a pony…"

"A pony?" Thranduil's brows nearly touched the woven circlet of leaves and flowers. "You _do_ want to get there in time for the ceremonies, do you not?"

Glóin's brows could fold into a frown that was downright frightening. "Are you saying that a pony would not get me there in time?"

"I am saying that I will be riding my stallion, and it will be difficult for any pony to keep up with him." Thranduil sat back in his chair and crossed his arms over his chest. "If you travel with me, you will have to have a more proper mount."

"I'll fall and break my neck!"

"Nonsense! Gimli spent a goodly portion of that wretched Quest behind Legolas on his Arod, who is no less tall than my Aduial. To my knowledge, he did not fall _or_ break his neck."

"Yes, and Gimli told me that if he never had to sit on the backside of a horse again, it would be too soon!" Glóin thumped the mug down on the desk and crossed his arms over his chest in a mirror of Thranduil. "If you think I'd agree to hanging onto your belt so that I don't tumble to my death…"

Thranduil blinked. "I did not mean that you would ride behind_ me_!" He huffed and frowned. "Certainly one of the benefits of being royalty is being able to ride one's own steed in peace."

"Well, I certainly wouldn't manage by myself on one of those monsters, now, would I?" Glóin retorted, "And although he hates the jostling, Gimli had to admit that they traveled faster when he rode with Legolas, who, as your son, is _also_ royalty, is he not?"

"That was different," Thranduil fumed. "They were…"

"Did they not arrive at your Hall together on the back of that beast? I know they arrived at _my_ Hall that way…"

"I am _not_ going to force Aduial to ride double!"

Glóin glowered at him. "Is he so delicate an animal then?"

"He is a highly trained war-stallion. He is most definitely not delicate!"

"Then what's the problem? He can bear the both of us…"

Thranduil stared at the Dwarf and then buried his face in his hand. "This is never going to work. Somewhere along the road to Osgiliath, we are certain to kill each other."

"I know. I have no idea what they were thinking," Glóin commiserated.

"What are we going to do?" Thranduil leaned his chin into his hand and contemplated his guest. "They will expect us to take their suggestion."

Glóin shrugged. "How soon were you planning to leave?"

Long fingers picked lazily through the papers and brought up three drooping sheets. "I am still in the middle of leaving adequate instructions for my aides to follow in my absence. It will take another day, perhaps more, before I can consider leaving. And once this tome I write now is done, I will have to fight my advisors who, because they are unhappy with my leaving in the first place, will no doubt insist on my taking a squad of warriors at the very least, for my protection…" His hand fell limp to the desk, bearing the papers with it.

"You can't travel quickly with a military company!"

Thranduil nodded. "Did you not hear me say that I would be fighting them? Like our sons' suggestion, it is not my idea."

Glóin's eyes narrowed. "Another day or so at least before you can leave, eh?" He rubbed his forefinger beneath his nose, stroking the moustache and then sat up straighter. His eyes glinted in restrained mischief. "How much would getting away without an escort be worth to you?"

"Why? What did you have in mind?" Thranduil sat up straighter himself, suddenly wary. Dwarves making deals was never a situation that inspired trust.

"If I can figure out how to get you out of here without an escort and accompanying nobles, you will put me on the back of that… mule of yours so that we can make good time," Glóin stated firmly, defending it with, "It's a fair compromise."

"We shall still end up wishing each other dead by the time we pass the southern fences of Eryn Lasgalen," Thranduil warned.

Glóin shrugged. "So? What else will be new?" He smiled at the Elvenking. "Are you game?"

"I can already tell I am going to regret this," Thranduil grumbled, "but yes. If you can get us out of here without a full escort, I can… Aduial can carry us both."

"Good!" The Dwarf had the audacity to look pleased. "Then this is what we shall do…"


	2. Trying Not To Kill Each Other

Chapter 2: Trying Not to Kill Each Other

"A single change of clothing, armor and weapons – by you, this was adequate travel provisions?" Thranduil grumbled. Aduial tossed his head and pranced, apparently just as grumpy and difficult to work with as the Elf who owned him.

"Ai! Hold this monster to a sedate walk!" Glóin's grasp on Thranduil's belt tightened. "I would rather arrive in Osgiliath without broken bones or bruises from falling and hitting rocks on the way down, or being bounced around and scrambling my brains."

"The latter will not be difficult, as much is already scrambled inside that hairy excuse for a…"

"You can insult me all you want. But I, at least, could carry about my own belongings. Had you been as frugal, we wouldn't _need_ an extra horse – one that you now are content to just let follow us around." By Mahal! Did the Elf do _nothing _but complain?

"Saerôl knows her duty. Besides, clothing is not all that was packed, and well you know it. What is more, with only one change of clothing, we would not have been able to bathe often, or be presentable at official functions once we arrive…"

Glóin shook his head. "Look, despite your having to load up that horse behind us, I got you out of your Hall without those fifteen warriors, didn't I?" The Elf continually seemed to forget _that_, just as he seemed more than willing to trust that the horse with far too many bundles tied to its back would follow along like a tamed pup.

"I am still reconsidering the wisdom of this entire venture," was the retort.

Glóin snorted. "Complain all you want, Elf, but all those fancy clothes and everything else you and your butler wanted to pack are on that other beast behind us, along with enough food to last us a week, even if we don't fish or hunt along the way. And we managed to get both beasts out of the barn without raising suspicions…"

"Barely."

"Blame your magnificent, temperamental, war-mule here for nearly giving us away!"

"Aduial was but greeting me. Had we…"

"Greeting you?" Glóin shook his head and laughed. "Sounding the silver trumpet of battle would have been less noisy. I remember the sounds of those things, you know." He looked around him suspiciously and into the trees as far as he could see. "And you say there are no more spiders?"

"No, I did not say that there were no more spiders," Thranduil's voice sounded condescending. "I said that the spiders would not bother us. Their area is to the north of here…"

"You _know_ where they are, and you let them alone?" Glóin was shocked.

"Of course we know where they are. They are the backbone of much of our economy, however, so we do not, as you say, leave them alone."

"What do you get from spiders?" Did he really want to know this?

"What do you _think_ we get from spiders?" Thranduil tossed back brusquely. "_Webs_."

Glóin's mouth dropped open. "Why am I not surprised," he quipped snidely, the moment he recovered enough from his shock. "Folk who make their homes in trees and talk to squirrels would _naturally_ have spider webs as the… how did you put it… 'backbone of your economy.' How you manage to pay for that wine you drink…"

The movement of the horse came to a sudden halt, and Glóin's face impacted the back of Thranduil's tunic. "Do you hear me criticizing or making sport of the mining skills of the Dwarves, Master Glóin?" Thranduil had half turned about and looked down at him with disdain.

Glóin glared back up at him unrepentantly, rubbing his sore nose with a hand not needed to hang on for a moment. "Spider webs?" was all he said, his voice still skeptical.

"Obviously you have never studied the manner in which silk is produced."

"Inasmuch Dwarves do not wear silk…"

"Ever?" The golden eyebrows had risen quite high on Thranduil's forehead.

No. Glóin was _not_ going to admit that some of the women living under the Mountain liked the feel of silken undergarments. "Hardly ever," he hedged. "Anyway, what does silk have to do with spiderwebs?"

Thranduil huffed and put Aduial back into motion. "Silk thread is what one gets when one processes spider webs and egg casings a certain way. It then can be woven…"

Glóin quickly reaffixed his hand to the King's belt before he lost his balance. "I see." He actually did, and hated to admit to himself that making a profit off of the discards of one of the ugly creatures the Dark Lord had turned loose in the forest was nothing short of genius. He shuddered. "I'm glad I don't have to be part of the collection party."

"That is why we wait until such things are discarded," Thranduil stated as if to a child. "That way, we do not have to defend ourselves from attack. As a matter of fact, however, of late we have been providing small prey to those spiders we know of, and encouraging them to build webs. Then, in the autumn, when the weather takes care of the adults, we wait."

"You mean those huge spiders that the Dark Lord sent into your woods don't last the winter?" Again Glóin's mouth hung open.

"_Those_ spiders are no more." Thranduil's voice was flat and made the hairs stand up on the back of Glóin's neck. "The ones that we now feed are their smaller, less aggressive cousins. At least, we _think_ they are cousins."

"Leave it to an Elf to wonder about the geneology of the forest fauna," Glóin grumbled with a shake of the head.

"Leave it to a Dwarf to make fun of another race's treasure," Thranduil tossed back. "Perhaps I should see if Aduial wouldn't enjoy a good trot, just to break the monotony of…"

"No, no. I'm certain that maintaining breeding records for arachnids is a perfectly reasonable and very wise pastime for wood Elves. Just as a nice, steady walk is surely quite relaxing to your…" Glóin could feel Thranduil stiffen for another insult to the horse they were riding and decided that perhaps a little concession in that direction wouldn't go amiss either. "…magnificent steed."

"Hmfph! You _are_ hanging on tightly, are you not?"

Glóin felt his heart sink, and he refreshed his hold on the embroidered leather belt. "I am now. Why_EEEEEE_!"

Aduial leapt forward into a swift run that made the trees of the woods on either side of the path they'd been following blur. Thoroughly rattled and utterly frustrated with his impotence at the moment, all Glóin could do was hang on for dear life as a landscape that would have taken hours to traverse at a more sane pace flew past in mere moments. He could see very little of it, however, for all of Thranduil's golden hair brushing his face and getting caught in his beard and on his eyebrows. Any thought of yelling out a complaint died the moment he opened his mouth to shout at Thranduil and ended up with more of the golden stuff halfway down his throat, making him cough and sputter.

He was grateful he had his hands so tightly wrapped in the belt when he heard the horses' hooves strike bare, hardened dirt, because they then made a sudden and abrupt left turn that would have tossed him into the bushes otherwise. The Elf, with a wild call of pure glee, merely leaned forward slightly and let the horse speed up even more. Glóin buried his face against Thranduil's back and closed his eyes, certain that he was going to be dead in but a few moments more. He was determined to stick to the Elvenking like a burr until they both had their feet on the ground again, however, whereupon he would make the vicious creature pay.

The torture seemed to go on forever before, finally, Aduial slowed down to a canter, and then a trot and finally back to a sedate walk. Thranduil, laughing heartily, leaned forward and patted the stallion's neck fondly. Glóin, barely daring believe that he had survived, was coming to discover that his fingers were locked and virtually frozen around the belt. "Are you daft?" he demanded after coughing out the last of the dryness from his mouth caused first by terror and only secondly from hair down his throat.

"Not at all, Master Dwarf. Aduial was aching for a good run, and we have now traversed a good league or so that would have taken us hours at the pace we were going." Thranduil chuckled and tapped at Glóin's fingers. "You need not hang on so tightly for now, as it would be better if he walked for a bit before we stop for water and some food."

"Let go, he says," Glóin grumbled into his beard as he felt the horse start forward again at the placid, smooth pace from before. "I'm _trying_ to let go! I have heard of being frozen in terror, and I believe my fingers are still terrified!"

Thranduil threw his head back and laughed long and hard. "That was exhilarating, was it not? I have not had occasion to let him have his head like that in many years." But the Elf was finally doing something helpful and working at prying Glóin's fingers loose. "After a few days, you should be convinced of his skill at not losing his riders." He readjusted the belt as well as the tunic it held in place. "Now we can investigate what Galion managed to pack for us as far as provender is…"

"You did that on purpose!" Glóin bellowed, still having to work his sore fingers by pushing at them with a forearm to break the muscles free. "You're mad!"

When the stallion finally halted again, Thranduil threw his leg over Aduial's neck and slid to the ground effortlessly. "Do not be such a sour soul. And come down from there - a walk will do you as much good as it did Aduial."

Glóin looked down at the ground from his perch with clear reservations. "It is a long way down, Master Elf."

"Oh, for…" Thranduil shook his head and grabbed onto Glóin's arm and gave a tug. He didn't let go, however, so still had hold of him when legs that barely were willing to hold him up made Glóin stagger. "Now, walk about for a while, and get the blood flowing again."

"I'd give you blood flowing, were my fingers not so stiff that I couldn't hold an axe if I tried," Glóin growled back. "You're right, we will have most likely tried to kill each other at least once by the time we reach Ithilien. Personally, my attempt on you will come after I can finally do more than waddle about like an infant just out of swaddling. ARGH!" he cried, a hand on his backside.

"Walk, Master Glóin. Trust me when I tell you it is the best cure for the stiffness that comes from not spending half enough time in the saddle before such a journey as this." Thranduil stretched his own back, and then leaned forward to stretch the other way before straightening and putting a hand to his own nether regions. "I too suffer from the lack."

Glóin's brows rose. "You?" He snorted in derision. "I thought Elves were in perfect harmony with their horses."

"I may be in harmony with Aduial mind to mind, but my hind quarters are far more in harmony with my throne than a saddle. It is, I fear, an occupational hazard," the Elvenking tossed back and began walking in a slightly stiff-legged gait to the pack horse. "Now, if Galion packed as I requested of him, we both have something that will help with the ache."

"Pillows?"

Thranduil snorted. "Not hardly. There should be both skins of wine and skins of ale somewhere in this mess. I did consider you when making requests of what provisions to bring along."

"Ale?" Glóin perked up, despite himself. "I take it back. Perhaps having a pack horse with all that gear wasn't such a bad idea after all."

Thranduil seemed to ignore him. "If we are wise, we will each take no more than a few good swallows. It would not do to spend the afternoon inebriated." He untied the first pack's flap and threw it up over the pack horse's back. "We should each carry our weapons from here on as well; there is no guarantee that my scouts might have missed a spider's nest or two."

"And only now you think to mention this?" Glóin shook his head. "Up until now, did you think we were going to be able to talk our way out of being made lunch, or that our good looks would count for anything?"

"Considering that the Dark Lord is no more, one might expect them to be more amenable to persuasion from an Elf, if good looks hold any sway," Thranduil offered with a wicked grin. "They might even be interested in joining their smaller kin in a place where they would be fed and cared for and no longer hunted."

Glóin guffawed. "Of course they would."

"You doubt me?"

"Never!" Glóin had his hands in the air in mock horror. "If there's one thing I'm learning, it is never to argue with an Elf who thinks he's right."

Thranduil looked at him through narrowed eyes, and then tossed a full skin in his direction. "I do believe that was an insult."

"Not at all, merely an observation based on ongoing experience." Glóin pulled the cork on the skin and sniffed, then pounded the cork back in and tossed it back. "That's wine!"

"So?"

"_Discerning_ Dwarves do not drink wine unless that is all that's available. And you said there was ale somewhere in that mess."

"True. I would imagine that appreciating wine takes a more discerning palate. Here. Try this one." Another wineskin was tossed in Glóin's direction.

He pulled the cork, sniffed, smiled and took a long swallow. "Much better! On the contrary. It's well-known that wine-drinking kills the ability to taste properly."

"At least it does not stunt the growth."

"No, it merely puts one's head in the clouds and gives one delusions that they can speak at will to animals and plants in the vicinity."

Thranduil paused with the wineskin halfway to his lips. "It is no delusion, Master Dwarf."

"Take your draught and then see what your man packed to _eat_. I don't know about you, but the walls of my stomach are rubbing together." Glóin took one more swallow of the warm ale that helped soothe the dry, scratchy throat and then corked the skin again. He put his hands to his aching hips and took a few agonized steps before he ground to a halt again. "Gimli must be mad to have agreed to travel in this manner after the Quest was finished, or made of sterner stuff to not have ended up lame!"

"Hold a moment," Thranduil said from behind him, and then Glóin felt an arm wrap around his upper chest, and another hand pressing into his lower back.

"What in the name of…" He began to struggle.

"Hold still!" Thranduil snarled at him. "I can help…"

"By assaulting me?" Glóin tried to jerk away, but the Elf's hold on him was quite secure, and that hand on his lower back was growing _warm_! "Fire and stone! What are you doing?"

"It is just a little trick I learned from… Hey!"

Glóin finally spun out of the Elvenking's grasp and backed away, only belatedly realizing that his back felt much better. "I must admit, it _does_ feel better; but I'd appreciate some warning next time before you try something like that."

Thranduil huffed and walked slowly – his own stiffness obviously still unrelieved – back to the side of the pack pony. "One would think you do not trust me, Master Dwarf."

"One would be right." Glóin twisted this way and that, amazed that so much of his stiffness had been eased by so little effort. "Who did you say you learned that from again?"

"I did not say, and I think I shall keep my own counsel for the moment." The Elf pulled out a dagger and sliced a thin strip from a slab of dried meat, and then pulled two apples from the bundle. "Here. This should keep us going until evening."

Glóin walked up to him and eyed him warily for a long moment, and then held out his hand for the food. "Thank you. And thank you for your 'help.' It may have been a bit… unexpected… but whatever you did, helped," he admitted with some reluctance. "Is it a skill you can teach to the Dwarves?"

"I have no idea," Thranduil said with a blink, then finished getting his own slice of meat and stepped away from the horses to sink into the lush grass with a grunt and a grimace. "And why would the Dwarves need an Elven healing skill?"

Glóin took the time to find a nearby stump to sit on. "Obviously you've never spent the entire day either working a rock face or forging a weapon." He stuck the strip of meat in his mouth and had to resist the urge to growl while worrying a bite from it.

"Obviously." The wry tone of Thranduil's voice brought him up to look at the Elvenking. Thranduil nodded the moment he saw he had Glóin's attention. "Under normal circumstance, I leave the business of the forge to talented smiths. It is one of the benefits of being royalty, and not a common laborer. However, your point is sound."

"Was that an insult?"

"Not at all; merely an objective observation based upon a great deal of experience."

By the fires of Mahal, this Elf was harder to deal with as time went by! But Glóin refused to be deflected. "So? Will you teach this skill to the Dwarves?"

Golden eyebrows climbed high on the brow. "And by 'the Dwarves' I take it you mean _you_?"

Glóin waved his ale-skin around him. "I don't see anyone else here, do you?"

"We do not even know if you have any talents in this direction. This skill does not manifest out of thin air, you understand." Thranduil bit into his meat neatly and chewed for a while. "I shall have to consider, as the one who taught me was both an experienced healer _and_ a teacher."

"And you are neither?"

Green eyes narrowed. "That, I believe, was definitely an insult."

"Not at all," Glóin retorted pointedly. "Merely an objective observation, based upon experience."

"Hmmmm."


	3. The First Night

Chapter 3: The First Night

"We should have stopped back there. It was a nice clearing, with a stream…"

"Have you forgotten, Master Dwarf, that there are but the two of us? We need to find something a little more defensible." Thranduil's back moved as if he was pointing, but Glóin could see nothing but the same cloak material he'd been staring at all day. "Over there is a much better place."

"If you say so, as long as we don't have to sit on your… mount any longer today." Again, he _really_ didn't want to insult the stallion, for twice now Thranduil had shown his preference for his horse over his passenger after hearing a disparaging remark by letting the monster move at a horrendous speed to cover a league or more before again slowing. "No offense meant to Aduial or his smooth gait, mind you…" No doubt he'd not be able to even move when his feet touched solid ground again. The gait might be smooth, when at a walk, but it was still anything but comfortable.

"Of course not. Anor has already made her way behind the mountains to the west, and Aduial could use a decent rest. But see? We can put our backs to that boulder there, under that overhang, and not have to worry about anything coming at us from the rear." Thranduil turned the stallion so that Glóin could see what he was talking about.

"Like spiders?"

"Wolves, more likely. I keep telling you, the spiders are to the north of us by quite a distance."

Glóin sniffed and commenced working his hands free of the Elvenking's belt again. "Which is, of course, why you had the both of us arm ourselves."

"Exactly…" Thranduil's voice had that funny tone to it that told Glóin he was being patronized. "I had us arm ourselves because the closer we get to the Celduin, the more likely we are to run into Men, and the closer we get to Mortal settlements, the more likely we are to at least see wolves."

"And you don't trust the Men who live within your realm."

Thranduil twisted. "Have you got loose of my belt now, or do you need my help?"

Glóin grunted and dragged his aching hands from the leather. "I'm loose. I'm loose." He couldn't move his fingers yet, but he was at least no longer a burr beneath the Elf's belt.

"About time." Thranduil had his leg up over Aduial's neck and slid to the ground in the next moment, landing with a thud and a grunt that even Glóin felt. "It is not that I mistrust the Men who dwell beneath my eaves, but just that I am well aware of the predators in my woods that see their penned livestock as easy prey." He took a few stiff-legged steps, his hands pressing against the small of his back at either side, and then returned to his mount's side. "Shall I help you dismount again?"

The size of the Elf's grin brought up Glóin's hackles, but he schooled himself to respond calmly. "Unless you can see a rock or stump…"

"For you to fall from when your legs fail you?"

"You have no faith in the strength of the Dwarves?"

"That is not the case at all. I simply have a good memory for your condition when we stopped for our midday repast." The grin widened. "Or are you saying that you are interested in trying your luck on your own this time?"

"You'd like that, to see me fall and break my neck, as _I _predicted beforehand." Glóin grumbled.

Thranduil shook his head, lower lip protruding. "And deprive myself of your company? Not on your life! My son would never forgive me, and no doubt _yours_ would take me to task greatly." He lifted an arm and, taking hold of Glóin's nearest arm, pulled. Like the last time, he didn't let go, but caught him before his knees could give out and steadied him until Glóin pushed him away.

"Give me a moment!" Glóin shifted his weight from his right foot to his left and then back again, then took a small step and almost collapsed but for Thranduil's quick reaction at catching him beneath the arm again. "I'm not getting back up on that beast again."

"That is your choice, of course," the Elf said far too easily, leading him by the arm to the side of the boulder where he could lean comfortably. "Shall I give your son your best wishes when I arrive and you are still several months behind me?"

Glóin growled in frustration, knowing the Elf was right. "I knew this was a bad idea."

"Nonsense. What you do not appreciate is that once we reach the river, we can catch a ride with one of the merchants who run trading barges to get us to the Old Forest Road. We shall have an entire day completely without need to ride." Thranduil walked stiffly back to his mount and began relieving it of its tack. "I would hope that you have some spare gold on you to pay for your transport, or am I going to have to loan you..."

Glóin ignored the last bit. "Do you intend to leave your beasts on the banks of the river up here then?" he asked, his eyes wide in surprise. The thought of the Elvenking leaving his precious war horse behind seemed so implausible.

Thranduil shook his head. "The barge is more than large enough to carry Aduial and Saerôl. You have never seen the craft used by the river merchants, I take it."

"I prefer the stability of working the forges and having the gold due me for my efforts delivered, thank you."

"You have changed, then, in the years since we last met," was the comment, punctuated by golden eyebrows climbing high on the forehead again. "You were with quite the band of adventurers then."

"That, my friend, was a different story."

"Meaning what?"

Glóin grunted and pushed himself away from the stone face to take a few agonizing steps. "Meaning that we all have a right to be young and…"

"Stupid?"

"Impetuous."

"Same thing."

"Only if a person doesn't learn from it," Glóin grumbled. "Are we going to set up camp here tonight, or simply talk until the stars come out?" He barely managed to get his hands up in time when his bedroll came flying through the air at his face, and soon after that, another. "At least you have decent aim."

Thranduil walked over to him with his shoulders draped with the two bulkier bundles from the pack horse, and he dropped them at Glóin's feet. "I generally have very little trouble either hitting or getting what I desire," he announced proudly and then walked back to the horses. Another trip had the burdened horse completely unencumbered, and a slap on the rumps of both sent them trotting off.

"Aren't you worried that they'll get lost - or stolen?"

"Not at all. Aduial is as much a warrior as I am. He will keep watch over Saerôl, and remain close enough to call at need. In the meanwhile…" The Elf rid himself of his heavy sword and shrugged a quiver over his head. "…I shall find us some fresh meat while you set up the camp. Are you able to move?"

Glóin's steps were still quite painful, but they were coming easier again. "I am. And who decided that _you_ would be the one to make all the decisions?"

"I _am_ a King, after all…"

"Not _my_ King!"

"It matters not whether you accept me as such or no. These are _my_ woods, and _my_ creatures. I will hunt in the Elven way and bring us back a good meal. You, my stiff friend, are better suited to building a fire pit and setting up camp."

Glóin was just as glad not to be tapped for hunting, but refused to give the Elvenking the satisfaction of agreement, so he just grunted. "Any rules about chopping wood that I need to know?" he asked with a tired sigh.

"As a matter of fact…" Thranduil had his leg through the bow and bent it easily to slip the string over the tip. "Cut deadwood only, please. There is no need to harm the living trees." He gave Glóin a pointed look. "And I shall know if you do otherwise, so…"

Glóin let out a groan. "Go on with you! Shoo! Go commune with the rabbits and deer and see if you can convince one or two to jump into our cook fire. I won't touch a twig on your leafy friends' heads - or branches. Whatever."

Glóin made shooing gestures that Thranduil merely glared at and then stalked into the trees. With a sigh, he untied first one bedroll and then the next and placed them on either side of where he'd decided to make the fire pit. There were enough small rocks around to surround the small depression he figured had been used at least once for something similar. He hefted his axe then and deliberately went to search out some firewood in a direction tangential to the one Thranduil had taken. Thankfully, there was plenty of deadfall to gather; he really didn't want to test out the Elvenking's claim that he would _know_ if Glóin took an axe to living wood.

The hike to the stream on the other side of the road was a decent walk that helped stretch out muscles that hadn't had much regular use that day, and soon the empty pot was full. Glóin found himself having to resist humming a work song to himself as he walked back to the camp. With his luck, Thranduil would be back and catch him at it, and be insufferable for the rest of the evening – not that he wasn't already insufferable enough!

By the time he'd dug in a pouch hanging from his belt for the flint and steel and got the fire going, the horses had returned from wherever they'd gone and begun cropping grass not far from the campsite. Glóin found the relaxed, unconcerned mood of the horses soothing until Aduial's head went up with ears directed forward to listen.

"Hello the camp! Our menu tonight is rabbit stew!" came a singsong voice that was growing familiar.

"You caught it, you clean it," he called back with a sly grin.

"Do I have to cook it as well?" Thranduil marched out of the trees with a plump rabbit by the ears.

Glóin shrugged. "Depends. Did your man put ample supplies in those bundles, or are we going to have to scrounge for other things to put in the stew with the meat?"

"See for yourself. Apparently I have my hands full at the moment." The Elf squatted with an ease that Glóin envied and pulled out a wickedly sharp looking dagger.

"You don't know?"

"All I know is that Galion assured me we had more than enough for at least a week if we didn't hunt, and for much longer if we did. Frankly, knowing him, he probably expects me to purchase more food for us at Laketown before heading down the Celduin." He gave Glóin a grin before setting to work to clean the rabbit. "I think he has little faith in my woodcraft because I have had no excuse to use it for a very long time."

"A side-effect of your backside being more in harmony with your throne than a saddle, eh?" Glóin chuckled as he opened the one lumpy bundle and frowned in confusion. "What in Arda is _this_?" He pulled out a solid and round, brown lump. "It doesn't look like a turnip…"

"That is one of the Shire's 'taters," Thranduil said, turning back to his task. "Legolas had Samwise Gamgee send a few of the plants to both Master Elrond and to us a year or so ago, and my people have developed a liking for them. Meat, a tater, a carrot or two and a few herbs should make for a tasty meal. Check and see if Galion put carrots in there too."

"I thought _I_ was doing the cooking."

"It was just a suggestion, Master Dwarf. Do as you wish, provided that whatever the result is, it is edible."

Glóin glowered. "As long as the result is edible. I'll have you know that I'm a very good wilderness cook!" He dug deeper into the bundle and pulled out a fat carrot.

"We shall soon know the truth of that, will we not?"

oOoOo

"Not bad, Master Glóin! Your reputation as a fine wilderness cook is well-founded." Thranduil sprawled back on his bedroll, stretched out his legs and propped himself up on an elbow and picked at his teeth in the flickering firelight. "I doubt me that the cooks in my Hall could have done better."

Glóin blinked in surprise and then leaned forward to put his wooden bowl atop Thranduil's. "Was that a compliment?"

The Elf let loose a low and wicked chuckle. "Trust me, it won't happen often."

"Good." Glóin nodded and let himself sprawl back into much the same posture as the Elf. "I have a reputation to keep up, you know; and I don't fancy it being spoiled by being tagged as being as touched in the head as my son is for having taken up company with an Elf."

"Nor would I wish to have my advisors talking about my having turned eccentric on this journey that they truly did _not_ want me to take – especially if they found out I made the trip with a Dwarf as a traveling companion."

"Then they are probably distressed with you today, finding out that you got away without asking permission?"

"Oh, most definitely!" Thranduil laughed heartily. "Ever since Legolas left us to take up the task of renewing the land in Ithilien, far too close to the realms of men for their liking, my advisors have been attempting to wrap me in quilting and tie me to my throne. The situation only got worse after Lothlórien emptied and the Galadhrim divided in three: those who came to make their new homes in my woods, those who followed Celeborn to Imladris, and those who followed Galadriel to the Havens."

"Gimli speaks very sadly of that, you know," Glóin offered after a long moment of silence. He tossed into the fire a stray twig lying on the ground in front of him. "The word under the Mountain is that he was bewitched there."

Thranduil nodded, all teasing apparently set aside for the moment. "So Legolas told me. Evidently your Gimli was quite taken with the White Lady, and she with him; and Legolas wrote once that Gimli nearly went into mourning when he heard that she had left for the West. I think that surprised many when I shared that bit of news; I know it surprised _me_."

Glóin sat and thought for a bit and then got up to fetch both the wineskin and the skin of ale from the pile of bundles from the pack horse. He pulled the cork on one, sniffed, re-corked it and dropped it onto Thranduil's stomach before returning to his bedroll with the other. "Tell me, do your people treat you differently because of the company your son chooses to keep: Men, and Hobbits and Dwarves as well as Elves?"

"No… That is, not so much that I would notice at court or in council, but only the One knows what they think or say when I am not around. Why?" Thranduil sat up and crossed his legs, then took a healthy swallow of his wine. "Do yours?"

Glóin took two swallows and then wiped the back of his hand across his mouth and burped politely. "Sometimes. I catch them looking at me, or at Gimli's brothers, as if we had grown an extra arm sometimes."

"Did you tell them you were intending on traveling with an Elf when you left your Mountain?"

"No, of course not. I knew better. And had you told your advisors that you were intending to travel with me before we left – with or without military escort – I'd be willing to bet fresh-mined gold that your advisors would have started giving _you_ strange looks as well."

"Not to mention tying me to my throne in reality." Thranduil took another deep swallow and then re-corked his skin. "You know, I am finding it most distressing that we seem to share some of the same problems, both with our peoples _and_ with our sons."

"True. I had never thought to have anything in common with a pointed-eared Elf King."

"Nor I with someone who spends more time beating things into submission with a sledgehammer than anything else." This time it was Thranduil who seemed to grow thoughtful over the course of a long silence. "How did they do it, do you think?

"Do what? And who?"

"Gimli and Legolas – how did they manage to become friends?" Thranduil's finger pointed first at Glóin and then at himself. "You and I shall never make that mistake, I am certain…"

"Absolutely not!"

Thranduil only nodded. "Which then begs the question how – and why – they _did_. Did we raise them incorrectly, do you think?"

Glóin shrugged. "I suppose they became friends with everyone who was a part of the Quest. Considering some of the tales I've heard Gimli tell, I would imagine saving each others' lives might have played a part."

"Yes, yes, there is that, of course. But…" Thranduil sighed. "Never mind. I guess how an Elf and a Dwarf could decide to become brothers-of-the-heart will just have to remain one of the many mysteries of our time."

"I hear wisdom at last," Glóin snorted derisively.

"You have heard it all along. Only now are you finally attuned to it well enough to recognize it as such." Thranduil sniffed and sat up, focusing on looking out into the darkness for a long moment before reclining once more into a relaxed sprawl.

"Did you see or hear something?" Glóin was stiff, staring out into the darkness.

The Elf shook his head. "There is nothing, neither from the trees nor from the horses. All is calm. Aduial knows to awaken me if there is any trouble, so I need not worry. I suggest you get some sleep, Master Dwarf. We have another day's riding ahead of us before we reach Laketown."

"You mean to tell me you're trusting our safety this night to an animal?" Glóin's mouth gaped.

"I could have you stand the first watch, but frankly, Aduial's hearing is undoubtedly more acute. Relax, Master Dwarf. We are still safely beneath my eaves." Thranduil folded his arms across his chest and gave a deep sigh. "The weather favors us this night, and the trees speak of nothing that might cause us harm."

"You won't mind if I stay awake and make certain of that anyway, will you?" Glóin grumbled.

"Suit yourself; I do not ask it of you. But if you do decide to stand watch…" Thranduil rolled slightly and pointed at the skin of ale. "…I suggest you not drink much more of that." He snickered softly to himself and settled back down on his bedroll, and very soon his breathing had evened out to the point that, had his eyes not been wide open and looking up at the overhang, Glóin could have sworn the Elf was asleep.

"Not drink any more ale? How do you expect me to stay awake?" He waited, but none of the Elvenking's barbed repartee answered him. "Hmph! I'm sorry my company bores you." Still nothing.

Glóin reached for the skin of ale, uncorked it, sniffed at the contents, thought for a moment and then frowned as he pounded the cork back into place and tossed the skin to the end of the bedroll. "I hope you intend to awaken to serve your watch later," he grumbled a little louder, but again received no reply. If anything, the Elvenking's breathing deepened a little more and began to almost resemble snoring.

"It would be just my luck to be stuck in the wilderness with a pointed-eared madman who trusts his horse's abilities at security over that of a proven warrior's, and is now fast asleep and not answering me." Glóin pushed himself to his feet, retrieved his axe from where he had set it to eat, picked up the wooden bowls and the now-empty stewpot and stomped off in the direction of the stream. "Might as well clean these," he grumbled to himself. "Only Mahal knows if you even know _how_ to wash your own dishes!"

His self-appointed chores quickly finished, he wandered over to the one rock the right size to serve as a seat. Just at the edge of the reach of the firelight, he saw the horses, lazily cropping at the thick grass. Their ears flicked about without concern. Oddly, that fact was reassuring, but there was no way he would ever admit that to the Elf. He rested his axe on the ground where it would be easy to retrieve and use it, should the need arise.

"What's worse is that I did this to myself. And now look at me – I'm talking to myself too! If I survive to see you again, my son, you and I are going to have words, I swear it!"

It was going to be a long night.


	4. Laketown

Chapter 4: Laketown

Thranduil felt the Dwarf's hands loosen on his belt as the weight of Glóin's head sagged into his back between his shoulder blades, and he caught at the sleeping Dwarf's hands before they could slip any further. He hadn't expected Glóin to sit up the entire night; he'd expected the exhaustion from the ride to have carried him off to sleep long before then, or to be awakened at some point before dawn to take his turn at watch. But no, his stubborn travel companion had been bleary-eyed and downright grouchy from the moment he'd roused from his dreams, so Thranduil had taken charge of getting them both bread and fruit to start the day, as well as readying the horses.

There had been no luring the Dwarf into conversation either. The few questions he'd asked, Glóin had grunted monosyllabic answers that sounded distinctly bored. So he'd nudged Aduial into a smooth lope and kept track that the hands at his waist remained well tangled in his belt. Knowing Legolas, and knowing that it was probably his son's idea that he travel with this particular companion, it wouldn't do for Glóin to simply drop off by the wayside – although a perverse voice in the back of his head questioned whether a being that compact and short wouldn't just bounce when it hit the ground.

Already, the trees were thinning; if memory served, an hour, maybe less, would see them on the outskirts of Laketown. There would be plenty of signs of habitation long before that, however, and Thranduil didn't quite smirk at the thought of how he would bring the Dwarf out of his sleep. Glóin snored, he was discovering; perhaps it was best that he caught up his sleep during the journey, rather than keeping them both awake through the night.

His estimation of how close they were to the beginnings of civilization was off – already he had sped past the first holding – and the moment he had passed the next one, he slowed Aduial down to a trot. Just as he had expected, Aduial had taken less than two or three jolting steps before he could hear the Dwarf snorting himself awake again.

"Wha's happening? Where are we?"

"Just outside Laketown, my sleepy friend. I thought that you would rather not present a first impression of yourself as dozing carelessly snuggled against an Elf's back." It was hard to not snicker. An Elf lord – much less _the _Elvenking – should _not_ snicker, but it was so very tempting. As it was, Thranduil's lips twitched with the effort of keeping them closed and preventing sound from escaping.

"Good idea." Glóin grumbled and seemed to struggle to not lean into Thranduil's spine anymore. Thranduil's smirk died with the lack of at least a small expression of gratitude. See if he protected the Dwarf's reputation again, at this rate! Hands took a more desperate hold on the belt. "Must we endure having our innards scrambled with this bouncing merely because we near a city of Men?"

Reluctantly Thranduil brought Aduial back to a gentler walk. "Is that better?"

Glóin merely grunted again.

No, he _definitely _wouldn't be protecting the Dwarf's reputation after this.

It had been years since last he'd been in Laketown, not since being given a tour of the newly-rebuilt structures two years after the place had been reduced to ash by the dragon Smaug. In the time since, evidently, many more Men had come to live in that place, for the construction of buildings extended onto dry land much further than he remembered, and a scorched wall of upright timbers protected the bulk of the city. How long had it been now since he had visited? Half a _yen_ already? He found himself trying to remember the names of the Mortals who had last made the trek to his Halls to renew trade agreements.

"King Thranduil? As I live and breathe!"

Oh, dear! What _was_ this man's name again? Beren? Boron? He'd met so many of them since he'd taken his father's throne. Thranduil pasted on a wide smile. "My good man! It is good to see you again!" He pulled Aduial to a halt and threw his leg over his neck to dismount with a spryness that hid the aches. "I see your people thrive."

"That we do, that we do… Wait!" The Man peered up at the Dwarf still perched on the rump of the war stallion. "Glóin? Glóin Gróin's son? Is it really you?"

To his credit, Glóin managed to focus on the Man and then smile widely. "Bellas! By Mahal's beard!" He turned and glared at Thranduil. "Do you think you could…"

Oh, the temptation! "Of course." Thranduil put up a hand and yanked none too gently, but steadied the Dwarf upon landing so as not to shake him up _too_ badly.

It earned him a glower and a less than sincere-sounding "Thank you."

"What are you doing so far from your mountain, old friend?" the Man continued, now pumping Glóin's arm up and down so vigorously that Thranduil feared for Glóin's balance this soon after dismounting.

Glóin finally managed to retrieve his hand. "We, that is… Thranduil and I… are on our way to Ithilien. Big formal ceremonies going on there that neither of us wanted to miss, you see."

Bellas looked around Aduial and down the road that they had just traveled. "Alone?" he asked incredulously, and then gazed at Thranduil. "Where is your escort?"

Thranduil shrugged. "My warriors have enough to do that I need not drag them from their tasks."

Thick, dark eyebrows rose on the man's face. "From the tales told of your visits here from long ago, I thought you never went _anywhere_ without a nicely armed escort."

"Considering the distance I intend to travel, and the fact that the land is at peace for a change, I did not see the need." He would definitely make certain that any trade negotiations from now on happened in _his_ Halls and _not_ in Laketown. The last thing he needed was to have his Battle Master – who ever insisted on being part of any foray outside the woods, except this one – hear of this Bellas speak of this incident in future. It would be bad enough when he got home to live down the lectures and worries.

Thranduil watched and managed somehow not to squirm as the Man's lips twitched and were unsuccessful at repressing an amused smile. "Of course," Bellas replied, his eyes starting to twinkle. "It is good to see you… both."

"As a matter of fact, we could use your help," Thranduil ground out finally, deciding to move on past the source of the embarrassment. "We are hoping to catch a ride with one of your trading barges down the Celduin to the Old Forest Road. Is there anyone preparing to leave soon?"

"Funny you should ask that. As a matter of fact, there is a barge set to leave for points south anytime now, but we've been having trouble with some… shall we say, pirates. I'm not certain when – or if – the barge will actually head downriver, to be honest." Now it was Bellas' turn to look chagrinned.

"Pirates?" Glóin sounded incensed. "This isn't the Falas…"

Thranduil held up a hand. "Before we jump to conclusions, Master Bellas, perhaps we could find an inn, with comfortable seating…"

"Of course! Of course! Where are my manners? Come, follow me." With an exaggerated wave of his hand, the Man led the way into the tangle of streets and wooden boardwalks that made telling whether one was on dry land or over the lake difficult except for the slightly hollow sound beneath the horses' hooves. "Do you want Dorlan to see to your mounts?"

"It will not be necessary," Thranduil spoke up quickly. "They will wait for us outside."

Bellas' eyes showed his surprise and disbelief. "Suit yourself." With that, he led the way through a darkened doorway and into a large common room. "Morast! Three of your best ales!"

Thranduil could feel Glóin's eyes on him, and he looked down with a slight shrug. He didn't necessarily prefer ale, but he had been known to choke it down from time to time. He also was fairly certain this was not a good time to be finicky. He rounded the nearest empty table and sat down on the stool. "Now, tell us of these so-called 'pirates' of yours."

Bellas waited until the swarthy innkeeper had deposited three pewter tankards of foaming brew on the table and left before starting. "We think it's some of them Easterling fellows what visited us at the end of the War. We had our share of fighting hereabouts, just as I suppose you had. I saw the smoke in the West…"

It took effort not to flinch. Thranduil didn't like to remember those days of first fierce fighting against almost overwhelming numbers of _yrch_; and then, when suddenly all the heart went out of the Enemy and they had turned to flee, leaving yet another fierce battle for the Elves against the flames that threatened the entire forest. "It was a sore time for us all, Master Bellas," he said finally, finding it little comfort to note that Glóin was somber-faced and nodding all too tiredly as well. Had even the Dwarves in Lonely Mountain been assailed? He'd have to ask… "But about the pirates…"

"Yes." Bellas waved his hand vaguely, as if dismissing the topic that brought Man, Elf and Dwarf together in common ill memory. "Well, anyway, the moment we started to re-establish our trade routes down the River Running to the Sea of Rhûn, our barges started to be attacked from the banks. Archers take out the bargemen, and then…"

"And you know this how?" Glóin asked with a skeptical growl.

"Survivors make it to the opposite shore and then come back to tell the tale." Bellas drooped on his stool. "Once the bargemen are down, them Easterlings bring out their little rafts and just… well, by the time the barge makes the next landing, it's empty and just drifting on the current." He shrugged. "The barge waiting to sail today carries almost a whole year's worth of trade with our partners to the south because we haven't dared send it out as yet, nor have they attempted to send their own barge northward."

Thranduil's brows were pulled together. "But, if you successfully defended your city against the Enemy, surely you have warriors…"

"We _did, _such as they were_…_" Bellas nodded. "But our forces had nice, strong walls to hide behind, and plenty of water to keep the wood from burning through. I'm certain you noted the scorch marks on them as you came into the city. We fought a defensive battle here, King Thranduil. We had few archers, and even fewer swordsmen. We simply held off a siege until the heart went out of them."

"Until the Enemy's Ring went into the Fire," Glóin clarified grimly.

Thranduil tapped his right forefinger against the rough-hewn table even as he sipped at his ale. "How many archers do you still have?"

Bellas gaped at him. "Maybe three in town now. Most of them have returned to their farms…"

"How many did you have for the siege?" Thranduil interrupted calmly.

"Twenty-five what survived, when all was said and done." Bellas looked grim. "We lost over a hundred…"

"How long to call them all together again?"

Glóin looked over at his traveling companion. "You've a plan. I can tell."

"I dunno," Bellas shrugged, not even noting the Dwarf's contribution. "Maybe a day – possibly two. Why?"

"What are you thinking?" Glóin demanded again.

"Tell me, Master Bellas, if my companion and I help you in defending this barge against your latest problem, we can call it a fair trade for transport to the Old Forest Road Landing?" Thranduil pressed, his eyes narrowed in thought.

"If you get this barge past those thrice-blasted Easterling thieves, I guarantee that your passage is without cost to you." Bellas tapped a determined finger into the table. "If you not only get the barge past the Easterlings, but help rid us of our problem with them altogether, I will personally see to it that your realm is given free space on our barges to facilitate trade up and down the Celduin for the next ten years."

Thranduil's brows rose sharply. "Have you the authority to make those kinds of promises, Master Bellas?"

The Man drew himself up proudly. "I am the head of the Merchant's Guild this term. That promise is very much within my authority." He put out his hand. "Have we an agreement, King Thranduil?"

Thranduil turned to the Dwarf. "What say you, Master Glóin? Do you feel up to matching wits with a few Easterlings with me?"

Glóin's smile was slow, but it was wide. "I have an axe that would very much like to be a part of whatever mischief you are thinking of committing on them, Elf. See if you can stop me."

"Very well then." Thranduil grasped the Man's hand firmly. "Call in your archers. The barge will leave early two mornings from now. Will that be enough time to bring in about half of them?"

"You'll have as many as I can get by dawn tomorrow," Bellas swore solemnly. "But you'll have to overnight. I can make arrangements with the innkeeper here for comfortable rooms, and I'll care for your horses in my own stable for the night, if that's agreeable to you."

"A bed?" Glóin nodded contentedly. "I like the sound of that! A bed is better than a bedroll on the ground."

Thranduil nodded too. "We await your pleasure, Master Bellas – although you will only have to care for one animal."

oOoOo

Thranduil could feel the Dwarf's outrage simmering behind him as he followed the innkeeper up the narrow stairs, and he had to admire the fact that Glóin managed to wait until they were at last alone in the small room they'd been given before the sputterings became audible. "You just turned him loose, and you think that he's going to make it all the way back to your Halls and…"

"Aduial knows the urgency of my request," he replied patiently, slinging his share of bundles onto one of the lumpy-looking beds. He'd probably be regretting not just camping on the edges of the city. "And the note tied to that borrowed headstall is fairly clear."

"You put too much faith in an animal!"

"And you put not nearly enough!" This was getting neither of them anywhere. "The fact is that, as much as I did not want an escort on this journey, we have need of a small company of Eryn Lasgalen's finest. What better way to send for them?"

Glóin threw his hands out to his side. "Oh. I don't know – maybe speak to one of the sparrows or crows in the forest and have them fly to…" His hands dropped and sharp brown eyes glared at him with an intensity that would have lit kindling, had it been close enough. "A better question is just what do you intend to do if your war-mule doesn't come back? Or is Saw… Sor…" He threw a frustrated wave at Thranduil. "You know… The other horse…"

"Saerôl."

"Yea. Is that mare able to be as good as…"

"Aduial will return. It was part of what I told him."

"But if he doesn't…"

"Master Dwarf, if Aduial does not return with a mounted squad of my best archers by this time tomorrow, I will…" Thranduil cast about for something that the Dwarf would consider adequate recompense in a wager. "I wager I will _walk_ Saerôn all the way to Ithilien, regardless of how much longer it will take us to get there. But…" He raised a long forefinger. "…if Aduial is back with my archers, as I requested, you will cease to harangue me about the intelligence of my stallion, my abilities to speak to him or any other creature of the forest, and…"

"By this time tomorrow, you say?" Glóin's eyes were bright enough to indicate that the Dwarf was actually considering taking him up on the wager.

Thranduil turned and eyed the sky almost at the same moment Glóin did. What time of day _was_ it, after all? "That _is_ what I said…" he replied archly.

The Dwarf came towards him with his hand outstretched. "You have yourself a wager, King Thranduil. Shake on it."

"You think I will not honor the terms of our wager without this…" Thranduil gaped, his brows sliding together.

Glóin's eyes narrowed. "Are you saying you are too good to seal a wager with a Dwarf in the traditional fashion?"

"_Your_ tradition, perhaps…"

"You didn't have any qualms about shaking Bellas' hand a little while ago."

"That was different! That was an agreement."

"Same difference. No shake, no wager." Glóin's voice was challenging, just as was the outstretched hand. Drat the Dwarf! Did he have any idea how much Thranduil was going to enjoy not having his stallion, much less his empathy with the living creatures of Ennor, impugned all the time.

The larger hand nearly swallowed the smaller, but the grasp was just as tight, just as firm and just as determined as the other. "Very well, Master Glóin. We have, by the tradition of the Dwarves and the honor of the Elves, a wager."

"Good!" It seemed the wager had put the Dwarf in a much better mood than he'd been in for the morning. "So what do we do until this time tomorrow?"

Thranduil adjusted his sword at his belt and gestured vaguely at Glóin's axe. "I am thinking that we should take a look at this barge, and see how best to make use of both the mortal and Elven archers, when we have them."

Glóin reached out and hefted his battle axe. "Lead the way, then. I'm right behind you."

"As it should be."

"I heard that!"

oOoOo

Bellas paused outside his guild house as the afternoon began to wind down and stretched his arms out wide as he looked around his city. It didn't take long before his gaze was captured by the sight of the Elvenking and the Dwarf, deep in discussion not far from the wharf where the barge was tied up.

That, he had to admit, had to be the least likely pair of traveling companions he'd ever seen in his life. Coming upon them together on the back of that magnificent stallion had been quite the shock, only to be followed by deep surprise at the way in which the two interacted. The Elvenking had lost none of his regal airs from what he'd displayed when Bellas had been part of the negotiating team to visit the mountain halls Thranduil called home. Certainly he still felt more than entitled to take charge of the situation, even one as far from his normal sphere of influence as the one in question.

And yet, the Dwarf seemed to have no fear of the Elf whatsoever. In fact, in watching them interact, it was soon very obvious to Bellas that they were not so much deep in discussion as they were arguing. Toe to toe, and neither backing down, it was a comedy of contrasts. Tall and golden had squared off with short and grizzled brown and silver, and neither looked willing to give an inch. Thranduil was pointing to the barge, and Glóin was shaking his head vehemently and pointing elsewhere. Arms were flying with both of them, and neither was paying attention to anything else around them at the moment. And yet…

It was subtle, but they _were_ listening to the other, Bellas suddenly realized. Whatever the topic under debate was, it had obviously been going for on quite a while; and while they still seemed to be doing more frowning than nodding agreement, from time to time one or the other of them would get a very thoughtful look on his face and respond quite calmly and evenly. Unfortunately, it would only take one or two more exchanges after that before they were at it again.

Well, if they were debating whatever it was King Thranduil had in mind, Bellas at least knew he'd done his part as requested. The word had gone out. What archers would be available would hopefully begin arriving sometime the next morning.

And were he not married, and expected home for his supper in fairly short order, Bellas would have dearly loved following them back into the inn and finding a quiet corner so he could listen in as those two no doubt continued arguing over their supper. Something told him that the experience would have been worth it.


	5. Doing Good Deeds

Chapter 5: Doing Good Deeds

"Get down! They will see you!"

Glóin glared in response back at Thranduil, who was crouched closer to the back end of the barge behind the pile of crates. "By Mahal's beard, how do you expect me to see _anything_ if I stay behind these…"

The Elf looked no less frustrated. "The idea, if you remember, Master Dwarf, is to not allow those we are hunting to see that there are any but the regular assorted bargemen aboard until the first arrows start flying. Once that happens, we shall know where to aim our own arrows, and the importance of secrecy is ended."

They had argued this point endless the day and evening before, and still the Elvenking insisted his plan was nothing short of simple elegance. What it was, as far as Glóin was concerned, however, was cowardice masking as so-called genius. "And just how do you expect any of these archers you have this thing loaded with to see where those arrows are coming from if they can't poke their heads up once in a while and…"

"It is a good thing that you are not shouting, Master Dwarf," The deep and wry tone of Thranduil's Battle Master, Brongalad, carried from beyond the immediate object of Glóin's ire, who simply nodded in agreement. The dark-haired Elf in shining armor that glinted in the sunlight looked almost condescending. "We would not want them to know where you are, even without the sight of your head over the top of those boxes."

"How soon until we are where your pirates usually attack?" Thranduil called back softly to the bargeman manning the tiller just beyond Brongalad, effectively cutting short any response Glóin would have.

The man grunted and pointed ahead. "There, see that bend in the river where the trees come almost all the way to the waterline? They seem to like hiding around there."

"Make ready!" Brongalad hissed, and Glóin heard the soft sounds of arrows being nocked and readied. "Perhaps, Sire, now you know why it is important that you not ride away from your Hall without…"

"Were this maneuver not so important to both Laketown and the economy of the wood, I can guarantee that you would not be needed here," The Elvenking answered the other Elf with a fierce whisper. "By our assisting in ridding the river-men of an ongoing menace left over from the War, we are gaining a very fine trading concession. And when we get to the Old Forest Road landing, you and your men _will_ remain on board, making certain this shipment makes it to its destination. After that, you may return to the Hall to await my arrival home in about six months, after which time, we can argue about the wisdom of your King being allowed out of the Halls from time to time without a nursemaid."

Glóin's frustrations eased slightly, knowing that Thranduil was dealing with being found out in his escape attempt by the very ones he'd most hoped to avoid until much, much later. Watching the King avoid being scolded like unruly child was far more amusing than he'd thought possible.

And, as expected, Brongalad didn't take the King's attitude well. "Sire…"

The clatter of a small piece of wood onto the deck of the barge cut whatever Brongalad was going to say short, for he scowled, whirled and hissed out to the other warriors that lined the barge, "Eyes! Find those archers!"

"In the bushes near the shore right at the bend, and three in the trees themselves," a soft Elven voice answered. "I make it ten on the ground."

"Shall we?" another asked just as quietly.

"Get down!" Thranduil barked to the river-men from Laketown who had been poling the cumbersome craft and keeping it to deeper waters, his arms moving in an urgent wave. "Get down, you fools! You're under attack!"

Brongalad's voice was grim. "Archers, take good aim. We do not need any wasted arrows."

Twenty archers – fifteen Elven archers and five mortals – suddenly stood up from behind the crates that had been so carefully moved to line the railing before leaving the docks at Laketown, and the song of twenty bowstrings was in unison. The arrows flew swiftly in gentle arcs to strike silently at the heart of the rustling shrubbery. In their wake came cries of pain and crashes of bodies as they fell where they had stood. A few more arrows were returned, but the defending archers were well-protected behind the crates and, once the danger was past, stood to fire another volley.

"Can I at least look now?" Glóin demanded angrily.

"Only if you will not blame me if someone puts an arrow through you," Thranduil snapped at him, straightening and looking down his nose at him.

"Sire! Get down!" Brongalad barked in turn, and the Elvenking subsided with a chagrined scowl down behind the box again.

He glared at Glóin when the Dwarf smirked at him with no small amount of satisfaction. "At least I'm not the only one being coddled," Glóin grumbled far less angrily. "But, by Mahal's forge, how am I expected to be of any help at all trapped behind…"

"Here come the rafts," the bargeman manning the tiller interrupted them.

One of the nearby Mortal archers snickered. "Obviously they didn't see what happened when their friends began shooting at us, did they?" There was a low murmur of assent and a few more snorts and snickers.

"Just waste no arrows," Brongalad insisted firmly. "Make each one count. Wait until they are close enough that they cannot flee back to shore, and we are more assured of a killing shot."

Glóin growled, "I thought I would be able to give my axe a drink." It just wasn't fair! The archers were having all the fun!

"Would it not be better if we could handle this little problem for our _edain_ friends without putting anyone here in any actual danger?" Thranduil hissed at him.

"Better for whom?" Glóin snarled back.

The sound of bowstrings singing as the targets on the rafts grew closer distracted them both, and finally it seemed Thranduil was too curious to remain hidden behind the crates. As the Elvenking peeked up over the top of the crate, Glóin followed his lead – just in time to see the man poling the raft closest to the barge topple off into the swift water with an arrow in his throat.

"My axe is thirsty," he snapped. "Let just one of them come."

"This is not a battle, Master Dwarf," Thranduil replied with a sigh. "This is a slaughter. I marvel that the Laketown merchants had not thought to provide armed defenders for their goods before now. However…" He beckoned to Brongalad. "Allow the last few to make it to the barge, and take them alive. Let us see exactly who they are and what they are about."

Brongalad didn't seem any happier about the idea than Glóin was, but he pressed his fist over his heart and turned to pass along the new orders to the warriors. Two rafts remained, one each coming at the barge from either shore, with one not having seen the carnage that came before. Brongalad silently divided the warriors and sent the other half to the other side of the barge to await the unsuspecting boarding party.

It was over in mere moments, and then four very surprised and frightened men were kneeling on the wooden deck. Were the situation not so serious, Glóin would have laughed; the men who had become terrors of the Celduin were young, all with the dark skin and almond-shaped eyes of those from far to the East. Their armor was tattered and sloppily repaired, if at all, and their weapons gone. Their gazes darted from Men to Elves and even to him and only got wider and more fearful.

"What shall we do with these?" Brongalad asked with a bloodthirsty gleam in his eye that Glóin found quite understandable. Every remnant of the Enemy obviously reminded the Elf of the predations that had been endured for far too long, a sentiment Glóin shared.

"My axe remains thirsty," he growled, enjoying the look of fear that filled the black eyes of one young kneeling rascal.

"This one at least understands _you_, Master Dwarf," Thranduil stated, pointing to one who looked the most fearful, "and we can use that advantage. You there." The Elvenking's long finger nearly touched the forehead of the one who seemed most aware. "Speak. How many others await you on the shore?"

The dark eyes only widened and the mouth worked silently.

"I could, if you refuse to cooperate, hand you over to my friend here." Thranduil's nod drew the utterly horrified stare of the young Easterling in Glóin's direction, "And then I suppose we shall have to see if any of your fellows speak…"

"N…no. Only I speak…" The young Easterling swallowed hard as he looked back up at the Elvenking.

"That would be unfortunate," Glóin added, running his forefinger very lightly over the sharpened curve of his axe blade, "for you, that is. I personally have been looking forward to assisting in removing the problems from the river, however." He lifted his gaze to catch Thranduil's, and then looked back down at the selected pirate. "It's your choice, though, lad."

"My short companion is not known for his patience. I suggest that if you wish to…"

"Short! I'll have you know that we Dwarves are compact, not short!"

"Ten more…" the young man blurted.

"Where?" Thranduil demanded.

The finger that pointed shook. "Beyond the trees. There is a cave."

Thranduil turned and beckoned the barge navigator. "How far to the Old Forest Road Crossing?"

"It's just around the next bend by maybe a half hour."

Thranduil summoned both Glóin and Brongalad. "I am thinking that we can bind these four and ask the bargemen to deliver them to Laketown on their return trip. The rest of us can depart at the crossing. Brongalad, you will take your warriors back upriver to this cave and capture as many as you can alive. Also, see if there is any remaining goods from previous ambushes, and then return to Laketown with your captives."

"Sire, but what about…"

"Glóin and I have a journey to continue," the Elvenking declared firmly, resting a hand on Glóin's shoulder. Glóin didn't quite flinch, as he had a suspicion that Thranduil was silently looking for his support here.

"Indeed," he grumbled. "We want to be on our way as soon as possible."

Oh, but Brongalad didn't want to let his King out of his sight! "I could appoint one of my men to a temporary captaincy, and accompany the two of you myself," he suggested with a frown. "It would not do for you to…"

"I have Master Glóin as my companion and comrade in arms, Brongalad," Thranduil told him, shaking his head. "We are two doughty, experienced warriors. Think you we cannot defend ourselves?"

Brongalad's gaze, when it landed on Glóin, felt skeptical and utterly disbelieving, and yet… "No, I know well you can defend yourself, Sire. It is just…"

"Then you may trust in my many years of experience, as well as my companion's… enthusiasm," Thranduil cut his Battle Master's complaint short. "I need to know that this task is dealt with properly, and _you_ are the person I trust most to see my will done, Brongalad."

"I appreciated that, Sire…"

Thranduil turned back to Glóin, obviously putting that discussion at an end. "And now, Master Dwarf, there is the question of a certain wager…"

Glóin began to grin. "Indeed there is. You said that your men were to arrive in Laketown within a day of when our wager was made, and they were late."

"We were _what_?" Brongalad blurted, visibly trying to keep a stake in what both Thranduil and Glóin discussing now.

"They were _not_ late…" Thranduil began.

"It was just past midday when we finished our talk with Bellas and made our wager," Glóin reminded the Elvenking with glee. "And yet Brongalad and your archers didn't arrive until mid-afternoon yesterday."

"Considering the distance they had to travel…"

"A wager is a wager," Glóin reminded him pointedly. "You specified one full day from the moment we were speaking. And but an hour or so shy of suppertime is definitely _not_ an hour or so after midday."

"But you must admit that Aduial did exactly as I asked of him," Thranduil insisted, his eyes narrowing, "and that he brought exactly the men I was requesting."

"Anyone can read a note," Glóin offered, shrugging to show what he thought of that particular argument. "And yes, I'll admit that your war-mule knows the way home. But…"

"He is more than merely a 'war-mule', Dwarf!"

"You're avoiding the issue, Elf!"

"And you are interpreting the terms far too specifically!"

"Dare I ask what the wager was?" Brongalad asked before Glóin had a chance to put up another argument.

Dwarf and Elvenking turned on the warrior and two voices, equally irate, responded with a unified "No!" They both frowned, and then with a mutual nod moved toward the stern of the barge to continue their discussion.

oOoOo

"I'm certain that these fellows will give us no trouble, yer Worship," the bargeman who manned the rudder – and seemed to be in charge of the others – said nonchalantly, gesturing at the hithlain-trussed quartet of Easterlings at the front of the barge. "We'll take them back to Bellas for you, no problem."

"Good," Thranduil nodded in satisfaction.

"Sire…" Brongalad was now frantic. The company of archers awaited his word to begin their march on the camp of the Easterlings, and Thranduil stood poised to escape his watchful protection once more.

"No, Brongalad," the Elvenking put up a long forefinger and shook it. "Your task is to finish mopping up the rest of those scoundrels and taking them back to Laketown."

"But…"

"Forget it," Glóin chimed in from his perch on Thranduil's stallion, startling both Elves. "This journey is meant for only two, and two doughty warriors Thranduil and I be. Your King will be perfectly safe."

"Pardon me if I doubt your efficacy as a warrior," Brongalad sniffed at the very idea of leaving the protection of his sovereign in the hands of a Dwarf and then glared at Thranduil. "This is madness!"

Thranduil shrugged with maddening disregard. "Master Glóin is correct: this journey is for the two of us alone. In the meanwhile, I am trusting _you_ to make certain that this little band of ne'er-do-wells is the only one sheltering so close to our eaves and clear them out so that they molest no one else. When you are finished with that, you will return to the Greenwood and guard the fences of our wood against any other undesirables while I am away." His eyes narrowed. "Do I make myself clear?"

"As crystal," Brongalad pronounced reluctantly. Thranduil waited, an eyebrow cocked to demonstrate the waning of his patience until Brongalad finally gave him what he knew his King wanted: a fist clenched a little too tightly to his heart in salute and a bow of obedience. Forcing his voice to a lighter tone, he asked, "And you will be returning to us when, Sire?"

He had to admit that Thranduil looked quite spry as he leapt onto his warhorse in front of that infernal Dwarf. "Ithilien and Rohan are some weeks away, so expect me no sooner than when the leaves begin to fall."

Brongalad's eyes widened in surprise and consternation, but the King had already wheeled his stallion about and started down the road at a trot.

"Do you mind?" he heard the Dwarf demand in a tone of voice that at any other time would have had him drawing his sword and hauling the blasted _naugren_ off to one of the small storerooms beneath the Hall and near the damp cargo docks on the river.

"Not at all," Thranduil replied in a regal tone that brought a begrudging smile to Brongalad's face, and then continued smugly, "now remember, I won our wager, so you can no longer complain…"

"_You_ won the wager?" The Dwarf's voice had shifted register, either in dismay or disbelief. "Might I remind you that your men didn't arrive until nearly sunset?"

"So?"

The heavily-laden pack horse shook her head and chuffed before turning to follow the stallion, as if she were aware of the two riders' dispute and tired of it already. Oddly, Brongalad understood her feelings entirely – and began to feel sorry for any brigand that might run across those two when both had their tempers up.

"The wager was for Aduial to have brought back the reinforcements within a day's time. A _day_, starting at midday. So slow this mule down to a tolerable walk and…"

"Nonsense," Thranduil snapped, and Brongalad winced at the sharpness of the retort. "The fact is that I sent Aduial off on _Orithil_, and my archers arrived on _Orgelaidh_. That, my hairy friend, is one day."

"You had no intention of keeping to the terms of the wager, did you, you pointed-eared reprobate?"

"You know what they say about sticks and stones, Master Glóin. Admit it: you lost the wager, fair and square."

"I most certainly did _not_!"

The voices were fading, but Brongalad chuckled and shook his head. There were times when he couldn't quite understand his King, and this was certainly one of those. If Thranduil was content to argue with the _naugren_ as if that one were a member of his own house, then perhaps it was best if he _did_ stick to rounding up errant Easterlings and then standing watch over Eryn Lasgalen in the King's absence.

It was probably safer that way.


	6. Finding Common Ground

Chapter 6: Finding Common Ground

"And why are we heading west this time? Didn't we just spend more than an entire day heading _east_?"

Thranduil found himself very tempted to rein Aduial back into a jouncing trot again, but they truly had time to make up, and Aduial's easy lope would cover a great deal of distance in a short time and caused much less complaint from the extra rider. "We head west because we head to the Anduin. The fastest way to Ithilien is by ship…"

"Then why did we not head east in the first place?" Glóin demanded.

"Because…" Thranduil sighed and yet again considered slowing Aduial and Saerôn back into a more discomforting gait. Considering that Glóin refused to admit that he'd lost the wager and had no place to complain anymore, the temptation was keen. "The Elven Path does not lead to a place where we could easily board a ship heading south, whereas the Old Forest Road has a full landing, complete with a ferry, should we merely wish to cross the river and continue east."

"We could have headed south directly from your halls, then," Glóin mused, and Thranduil wondered if he was being deliberately obtuse, "and avoided that entire fiasco in Laketown."

"That was no fiasco, Master Dwarf. In the end, it was of great use to Eryn Lasgalen _and_ to the people of Laketown. Certainly you did not mind seeing more of the Enemy's forces routed…"

"Of course not. I just think…"

"How often have you traveled through these lands?"

"Just twice." The weight that was the Dwarf shifted, and the hold on his belt changed as well. "The first time when our party went to retrieve our treasure from the dragon, and the second when we traveled to Rivendell before the War."

Thranduil nodded; it was as he'd thought. "Then allow me to do the thinking for us, as I have traveled widely through these lands in my long lifetime. Trust me, I know the shape of Ennor far better than you."

"We still could have headed south," Glóin insisted.

"Yes, we could have," Thranduil admitted, "and taken twice as long to arrive at the Old Forest Road in the process. Traveling through the wild woods on horseback is a slow business; there are obstacles that could trip or lame the horses, not to mention having to keep a much sharper eye out for wild beasts…"

"I thought you Elves traveled just as fast in the woods as you do on the ground."

"We do, but not on horseback. And personally, I really did not think you would have appreciated climbing trees and then trying to run from the branches of one to the branches of the next without falling."

"A Dwarf does not climb trees," Glóin stated flatly, "nor try to play in the branches like squirrels."

"Perhaps if you did, you would appreciate why it isn't wise to try to travel by horseback through the thick of the forest," Thranduil shot back. "We took the route that would get us where we wanted to go the quickest."

"Despite the extra time wasted waiting for your archers, who couldn't make the trip through the branches in a single day?"

"I told you. They were there in good time, and you lost the wager."

"You cheated."

"I did not. Do we really want to resume the argument? I can slow Aduial down to a trot…"

"No, no… I just…"

"Yes?"

Thranduil heard the Dwarf sigh heavily. "Forget it."

He nodded in satisfaction. "Good. I shall." He waited, but was almost disappointed when Glóin didn't attempt to get the last word in again. That particular little contest between the two of them had given both ample opportunity for sport at the other's expense, and lightened the journey so far quite a bit. Wishing to cheer his companion, for traveling with someone who was depressed was _not_ on Thranduil's list of things to do, he continued, "Dwarves do not climb trees, you say?"

"That's right."

The Elvenking's lips twitched. "If that is so, then Gimli must have found it very difficult to travel in Lothlórien, for I know that the Galadhrim do not spend much time on the ground there as a rule. Not to mention that Celeborn and Galadriel would have greeted that party in their great hall, which is quite a ways off the ground."

"Well…" He could hear the frustration in the Dwarf's voice, and just _knew_ an admission was on it's way. "There were some in the Lonely Mountain who had always said that Gimli was more… adventurous… than was seemly…"

Thranduil threw his head back and laughed. "I knew it!"

"Then again, I suppose he felt obligated after Legolas…"

Thranduil waited, but Glóin didn't continue his sentence. "Legolas what?"

"Oh. Haven't you heard the tale of their time in the Golden Wood?"

"What is it that you believe you know about their time there that I am unaware of?" Thranduil demanded.

"Only that Legolas, an Elf, allowed himself to be blindfolded with the entire group when the wardens insisted that Gimli be so hindered. Doing that meant that they all had to travel on the ground, no doubt – including your son."

Thranduil's blood boiled. "The party was blindfolded, all because of Gimli?"

"No…" Glóin's voice sounded with the kind of patience used with someone slow at understanding. "The party was blindfolded because Aragorn insisted on it. It was his belief that if one must be blindfolded, they all should be, so that no one was singled out for disgrace. Legolas went along with it. I think Gimli came to feel a bit regretful of that, in time."

"My son was blindfolded…" The thought was infuriating. Never had Thranduil been so glad that Galadriel was across the Belegaer and Celeborn in Imladris, and that they would float down the Anduin past Lothlórien, rather than ride up to it. Were they to be on horseback, he'd be tempted to ride into the Golden Wood and demand satisfaction of some sort from those who remained for the insult.

"Your son was blindfolded because _my_ son was blindfolded. Haldír, I think, was the warden who did the most insisting. To hear Gimli tell the tale, it was because of some ancient animosities between your folk and mine; things that only those with nothing but time to nurse old grudges would remember. "

That did it. Thranduil pulled Aduial to a halt and turned halfway around to glare down at the Dwarf behind him. "I know a great many who remember those 'animosities' all too well, Master Glóin. Your people attacked and murdered a King and massacred many of my people out of greed for a single necklace containing the most accursed jewel in all of Arda. That one jewel caused more mayhem and…"

"Leave it to an Elf to drag out ancient history as validation!" Glóin snarled. "Why, Gimli wasn't even born, nor even the Lonely Mountain inhabited, when…"

"That may be ancient history to you and yours, perhaps, but not to me and mine!" Thranduil snapped. "Lothlórien holds – or held – some of those who either dwelt in Menegroth when Elu Thingol was slain and survived the massacre that followed, or those who were alive at the time in other lands and were appalled by what happened. For them, the sack of Menegroth and the murder of one of our most ancient Kings is most certainly _not_ ancient history!"

Sharp brown orbs glared back up at him in an anger that suddenly shifted into deep shock. "_You_ remember? Yourself?" Glóin asked quietly. "_You_ were there?"

"_I_ was not," Thranduil admitted, backing down slightly in light of the calmer tone in which the questions were asked, "but my father _was_; and he spoke of it with great bitterness and only at need. His memories of that were dark ones that he rarely shared. That was the beginning of the end of Doriath. All of the death that rained down upon that realm – and so upon many others before and after – came because of that accursed gem and its like. Many innocents were killed by your people who should never have been endangered: women, children…"

He could tell that he was making the Dwarf rethink tales that, to a mortal being, were probably now more the stuff of legends and fables than history. "That is not the way the story came to us, or the way it is told in our halls even now. We are taught that a treasure of our people was falsely claimed by your King, and those who rightfully retrieved it from him were then pursued as dogs and slaughtered. When we marched upon the Thousand Caves, it was to right a grievous wrong and reclaim that which was ours by rights; and even then, those who went to avenge the insult done us never returned."

Thranduil's eyes widened, but returned to a scowl. "Be that as it may, however, the Sindar have not forgotten the treachery of your people from that time, betrayal from people we had long called friends and allies. I think, in light of that, the Galadhrim had more than ample cause to exercise caution in allowing one capable of such… brutality… to invade their refuge." Thranduil continued to glare, but it was more the glare of a stern instructor than a vengeful warrior. "Tell me, would the Dwarves have been welcoming were the tables turned and it had been _their_ King murdered – if it had been _their_ home invaded and _their _wives and children slaughtered? If Legolas had suddenly appeared among them asking them for sanctuary, given that history, would _your_ people have been gracious and forgiving?"

Put that way, there was only one response. "Of course not. But… perhaps that is why our people are taught that Elves are our Enemies," Glóin offered with a thoughtful tone after a longer than normal silence. "The tales that are left behind for those who follow sometimes only barely resemble the truth that came before. While I wager that the full truth of the matter to lie somewhere between the memories of your father and the legends of my people, I would guess that on both sides, guilt can take many forms, some of them defensive."

Thranduil's brows rose. Perhaps there was wisdom in the _naugrim_ that the Elves had conveniently overlooked in their wrath and vengeance in the _ennin_ since Doriath. "That is indeed possible..."

"…With time and distance removing the reason for the belief and only compounding the problem for those many generations removed, who would have no idea of what is half-truth and what is embellishment." Glóin added grimly. "It makes me wonder, though…" he began again, and then shook his head. "Forget it."

"What?" Thranduil was genuinely curious now. Getting to know a Dwarf up close and very personally was becoming an adventure in exploring a strange and unusual perspective, and he was coming – very reluctantly – to respect Glóin's integrity and intelligence. For a brief moment, he wondered whether Legolas had developed the same curiosity about this one's son. "What is it you wonder?"

"Why, when we entered your forest and you locked us in your halls, you didn't just kill us outright?" The Dwarf looked up at him, his eyes wary and yet filled with something akin to the same curiosity he himself had entertained.

Thranduil shrugged. "As I said, _I_ myself do not remember Doriath; and for all that my people would not have complained if I had done just that, I knew your party was not personally involved in that massacre long ago. You and your companions were locked away, rather than treated as guests, because you would not tell me what you were doing in my woods and for no other reason, for that was what you _were _guilty of. To have done more would have been to sink to barbarism myself."

Glóin stared at him for a long moment before finally looking away and around at the dense forest on either side of them. "I suppose we still need to make up time lost waiting for your archers, don't we?" he remarked, peering upwards as if looking for the sun.

"We do indeed. You are comfortable with the pace Aduial was setting?" Thranduil could feel Glóin deliberately pulling back from the dangerous topic and decided not to tweak at him anymore.

"Aye. At least I don't feel as if your horse is trying to dislodge every organ in my body at each step, and you are traveling at a pace more suited to you. It is a good compromise."

"Then we should continue on our way." A gentle nudge of the heel to Aduial's side, combined with a whispered word soon had them back in the easy lope that Thranduil knew his four-legged friends could maintain for hours. The silence between himself and the Dwarf grew, but it wasn't necessarily an uncomfortable one this time. Enough had been said to give both reason to appreciate the opportunity to meditate without disruption.

And surely there would be another opportunity to verbally spar with Glóin later on. After all, time _did _flow faster when his mind was occupied with trying to stay one step – or thought – ahead of the Dwarf, which wasn't always as easy as he'd once thought.

oOoOo

Glóin set aside his bowl once he had made certain none of the stew was left and gazed at the Elf lolling against a fallen tree across the evening's fire from him. Discussion between them had been sparse since their near-war on horseback earlier in the day, although he was fairly certain that the Elvenking wasn't angry per se. Still, with the darkness closing in, the rabbit stew mostly consumed, and the thought of another day without some sort of conversation to make the time fly faster sitting heavy in his mind, he couldn't take a chance on this stalemate continuing.

"Might I ask you a question, King Thranduil?"

Thranduil's eyes met his over the low, dancing flames, and then he nodded.

"Did Dwarves help you carve out your halls?"

The Elf shook his head. "Nay. We did the work all by ourselves, although I will admit that some of the people involved had trained under the Dwarves who helped Finrod Felagund carve out Nargothrond. Their experience was invaluable to us, when the time came."

"And yet Gimli tells me that Legolas is most uncomfortable when obliged to go underground. Did he not grow up in those same halls?"

Thranduil stirred himself and rose to peer into the metal pot that had held their stew as it cooked. "There is a little left, do you wish some?" When Glóin shook his head, the Elvenking helped himself to the remainder and settled back down against his log. "My son grew up in my halls, yes; but he was always more his mother's son than mine, and followed the ways of the Laegrim more than of the Sindar."

"And that means what, exactly?" Glóin scowled, trying to follow Thranduil's reasoning.

"Do you know the history of the Elves?" was the question that came next. "You were aware that our forefathers awakened next to Cuiviénen and were summoned across the Belegaer by the _Belain_?"

"No," Glóin admitted. "I can't say that I've heard the tale. But what does that have to do with…"

"If you will indulge me, you will see the relevance," Thranduil said with his spoon before his face. He took his bite then waved the spoon vaguely in the air until he swallowed. "Some of our people did not agree that following the _Belain_ to the Undying Lands was a good idea, and they turned aside. Those were the Evyrrim – known as Those Who Refused. My wife, Laeriel, was of a branch of that people known as the Laegrim – the Green Elves."

"I still don't see…"

"It was from the _Belain_ along the way that the Golodhrim and the Minyar learned to craft dwellings of stone, just as your people learned from _Ôl_ the craft of smithing and delving Arda for its treasures. The Sindar were a people who followed the _Belain_ to the edge of the sea, and yet remained while their King, Elu, was lost to them, and yet they too had learned from the _Belain_ along the way. They, in the days before Doriath, allied themselves with your people and learned to live below the ground, while the Laegrim remained in the woods. The Laegrim, as a rule, find the caves and tunnels of the _naugrim_ and the Sindar, and the stone structures of the Golodhrim odious at worst and barely tolerable at best." The Elf scrapped the spoon against the side of the bowl, intent on finishing the very last bit of stew. "Do you understand now?"

Glóin was indeed beginning to understand, and wasn't entirely certain he was glad about it. "So… Legolas preferred to be in the woods, in the trees…"

"Exactly. And the moment he gained his majority, became a warrior and earned the right to set up his own household, he only returned to my halls for short times between postings," Thranduil nodded. "He made his own home in a _talan_ in a settlement not far from my gates, so that one of us could visit the other easily enough. That arrangement lasted until the Darkness from Dol Guldur pushed on us so hard that all were forced to take shelter in the halls." The Elf's face grew grim. "Even Legolas."

"And now that the Enemy is gone, have these… these… La… Lae…"

"Laegrim."

"Yes, them." Glóin was grateful for the help. "Have they returned to the forest?"

Thranduil nodded. "They have indeed, Master Dwarf. Look about you. It is due to their diligence and stewardship that my woods have recovered as quickly as they have."

"That includes Legolas, then, it seems."

The Elf shrugged. "I have yet to see what kind of home he has created for himself in Ithilien, but I doubt me that it is a cave. At best, it will be of stone and wood, much like Imladris, although I would not be surprised to find him in another _talan_."

"Imladris?"

"It is known as Rivendell in the Common Tongue. the place where Elrond Half-Elven once dwelled."

Glóin nodded, remembering the strange place that was half wood, half stone, and completely alien where he and his son had gone to attend a council of the Free Peoples. He reached out and pulled the two more pieces of deadwood that had been gathered and positioned them in the circle of stones so that they would keep the fire burning for at least another hour.

On the other side of the flames, Thranduil pushed himself to his feet and gathered bowls and stewpot. "You hunted and cooked while I tended the horses. I shall clean."

"Imagine that," Glóin quipped without thinking about it, handing up his bowl to a waiting hand, "a King who knows how to do dishes."

"You might be surprised at all the things a King is expected to know how to do," was the retort, but the way the Elf's lips quirked in a smile barely restrained took the sting from the words.

Glóin stared at him for a moment, and then came to a decision. He rose to his feet and walked over to stand directly in front of the Elf, making him pause on the way to the nearby stream. "There may be thousands of years' worth of bad blood between your people and mine, but I would like to think that some of us can be wise enough to lay it aside when reason exists to do so. Who was right and who was wrong all those many years ago has nothing to do with who we are and what we're about now, as individuals and as peoples. And that being the case, perhaps there can be a truce between the two of _us_ from now on. What say you?" He stuck out his hand and waited.

The Elvenking stared down at him for a very long and silent moment, and then bent to put his burden of dirty dishes on the ground. He straightened and gave Glóin a warrior's clasp. "If one is wise, one does not argue with wisdom when one hears it from another. Very well. A truce it is." He released himself from the clasp only to raise a warning forefinger. "We will not share this with anyone else, however. Agreed? After all, we both have to return to and live with our own kind when this journey is done."

"Too true. What is more, we both know the grief our sons have been through because they will not set aside _their_ friendship for the comfort of others," Glóin nodded. "Neither of us need bear that burden. Besides, it would be mutually humiliating for us _and_ would make the both of them far too smug to think that they had tricked us into learning how to get along as they have."

Thranduil chuckled. "Letting that out would simply never do, I agree." His eyes glittered merrily. "We shall have our truce, then, Master Dwarf – at least, in private."

Glóin's hand tightened in answer. Perhaps this Elvenking wasn't such a bad sort after all. "In private, aye. In public, however…"

"I think we are well-enough matched that we can give a showing of mutual belligerence whenever necessary, do you not agree?" Elven eyes glinted merrily in the firelight.

This time, it was Glóin's turn to chuckle. "Absolutely. And may the best Dwarf win those exchanges."

"Now wait just a moment…"


	7. Epilogue

Epilogue

"This is probably the best spot."

Thranduil reluctantly reined in Aduial and cast his eye about him. "You have a good eye, Master Dwarf." Yes, this would be a good place for the two of them to part. They had stopped in a small clearing, with a stream trickling merrily somewhere not too far away. Surrounding them, what remained of the late autumn forest colors scattered on the ground around them lent at least a little warmth to the chilly afternoon. The lack of bird song and the nearly naked limbs overhead told of the lateness of the season. Just a few weeks more would see snow on the ground and not a single remaining golden leaf above their heads.

Glóin's eye – or his memory of the terrain he'd covered that Spring in coming to Thranduil's Halls – had remembered a spot almost neatly equi-distant to their respective destinations. To the east, the ground was more or less even for quite a distance before the rocky terrain of the foothills took over. That way lay Erebor and the Blue Mountains beyond. To the north lay the Elven Path, and the Hidden Gate to his underground Halls.

Thranduil threw his leg over the stallion's neck and slid to the ground, then put up a hand and helped Glóin dismount as well in the manner that the two of them, over time, had found most efficient. "Our time together has come to an end, it seems," he commented wryly as he steadied the one he now had come – very privately, almost secretly – to consider a friend for one last time. "I must admit, this has been one of the most interesting seven months I have spent in my very long lifetime."

Glóin stomped his feet and walked stiffly in a circle, his fingers stretching open and closing to work out the residual lack of movement there too. "I have not lived as long as you, but I will admit that this has been an interesting Spring and Summer, to be certain!" He paused in his efforts to get circulation back in legs, backside and fingers to gaze up at his traveling companion. "We make a good team," he commented thoughtfully.

"Just as our sons expected," Thranduil replied with a nod as he moved to the bundles on the back of the mare. "It was just as well that we had plenty of time to practice our arguing skills on the journey south, and then kept them sharpened during the visits. Did you see the look on Legolas' face when we finally left Ithilien for the last time in the middle of arguing about the merits of axe over sword?"

"No," Glóin guffawed. "I was having too much trouble not laughing at the look on Gimli's face."

Thranduil grew thoughtful. "We disappointed them, I think."

"That we did. More importantly, we taught them that they cannot expect all Elves and Dwarves to come to the same conclusion that they did and get along when pushed together," Glóin corrected him, his laughter dying quickly, and Thranduil nodded somberly.

"The past is almost too big an obstacle for our two kindreds to overcome."

Glóin nodded. "Unless there is good reason to. And, from what I can tell, even those in Ithilien and Aglarond still do not feel ample reason."

"We can only hope that our sons' constant presence among each other's kindred will have a positive influence in time. At least until even Legolas is convinced that the time of the Elves is finished and he feels free to follow his Sea Longing to the West."

"With luck, that will be long after Gimli has left the circles of the world," Glóin said and then blanched as if realizing the implications of his statement to the both of them. "Maybe not so much luck."

"It will be as it will be. I doubt me that Legolas will long tarry once his Mortal friends have left him."

"Thranduil, I did not mean to..."

"There is no offense." Thranduil shook his head and began untying lacings that held bundles to the mare's back. "It is simply the greatest difference between us, Master Dwarf, that you and your kind will leave this world in short order while I and mine must remain behind and remember. It naturally colors our perceptions, and changes our perspectives one from the other."

Thranduil tossed back first the battle axe from where it had been stowed with the other weapons since first entering the eaves of Eryn Lasgalen, then the tightly-rolled sleeping blankets, and finally with the wrapped bundle of clothing and gifts from Ithilien and Aglarond that Glóin would take back to members of his family at home. He no longer wondered at the simple, sparse grace of Glóin's movements to catch and deal with the tosses without a single error. Even as an elderly Dwarf, Glóin was quick and capable, and in so many ways lesser only in stature and lifespan.

"You have been a boon companion, and a fine warrior," he offered then, turning to face Glóin directly. "Other than your persistent bias against my poor, long-suffering Aduial, I have found your mind sound and your heart a good one."

"Well, as far as that towering mule of yours is concerned, remember that you _did _lose that bet in Laketown," Glóin reminded him with a wicked smile beneath all that grizzled beard.

"I most certainly did _not_!" Oddly, the thought of not having anyone willing to or even halfways as capable of challenging him in a verbal sparring match as this Dwarf was a depressing one. Being a King definitely had its disadvantages, these past few months had taught him. Still, this was not the time to mope. Without the slightest reservation or hesitation, Thranduil extended his hand. "Farewell Glóin, son of Gróin, master craftsman of _Ered Luin_. May the rest of your journey be swift and easy, and may you enjoy a fine feast for homecoming."

Thranduil's hand was grasped by the strong, dry grip of the Dwarf. "Farewell Thranduil, son of Orophir, Elvenking. Since only the two of us are here to hear me say it, I can say that I have enjoyed our time together. There are stories I could tell my people of you that..." Glóin grinned as a brief flash of panic washed unexpectedly through Thranduil. "Have no fear. _Those_ stories will not be shared. Other tales, however, I will tell – if only to enjoy the looks of disbelief."

He'd do it, too, Thranduil realized, as would he himself. "You are not the only one with potentially embarrassing stories, you know," he reminded Glóin with a haughtily raised eyebrow. "But like you, _those_ tales will not be shared, only savored in memory over a tall glass of good wine."

"Maybe on those nights, you should consider working on developing a taste for ale?"

Thranduil snorted. "Only if you promise to develop a taste for wine." He had to laugh at the disgusted grimace his remark garnered. "Ah well, I suppose some things are just too much to wish for."

"Thank Mahal!" Glóin's face brightened. "Say! You never _did_ teach me that Elven healing trick!"

"As you never mentioned it again, I forgot about it entirely. I beg your pardon, Master Dwarf." Thranduil was nonplussed. After all they'd been through together, it would have been the least he could have done.

"Ah, well..." Glóin expertly settled his bundle on his back and took up his battle axe as if it were a walking stick. "Good luck arguing with your advisors, and getting out of the bindings holding you to your throne," he tossed over his shoulder as he took his first steps alone in the direction of Erebor.

"Yes, well, I do not envy you your welcome either," Thranduil called out. "Did you not say that they wanted you to stay at home because of your advanced age? What will they say now that you wear even more silver in your beard than before?"

"At least I do not have to argue my way to a summer's stroll."

"I do not either," Thranduil complained, stung. "It is an absence of well over half a year that caused the problem that had my advisors upset."

"So you can slip away again for a shorter time without causing too much trouble?" Glóin had turned about and walked back into the small clearing.

Thranduil thought for a moment as he gazed at the grizzled face of his unexpected friend, and then a slow smile spread. He'd learned that expression early on in their travels: Glóin was planning something. "It is not as if I have not now left clear instructions as to how to handle issues when I am absent," he stated regally. "Why?"

"There is the possibility that I may be making a journey to Rivendell in the next couple of years. One of Elrond's sons sent an order for work to be done that will need delivery by then."

Rivendell. Imladris. The journey, provided they used Aduial, would take two weeks over the mountains and two weeks back, with perhaps a week or so spent in the refuge on the other side of the Hithaeglir. Rivendell, where so many Galadhrim now lived after leaving the Golden Wood, including Haldír, who, according to Gimli as related to Glóin, was the one who had insisted on blindfolds for Legolas and...

"I hear Haldír remained behind with Celeborn in Imladris when Galadriel left these shores," Thranduil said slowly and carefully, watching Glóin's face closely for the reaction.

It wasn't long coming, and was thoroughly satisfying in its predatory nature. "He did, did he?"

"Indeed." It was good to know that they both were thinking the same thing, very good!

"That adds an interesting potential side-benefit to the trip, do you not agree?"

Thranduil definitely agreed. "And in such a case, I think I might be able to arrange my schedule to accommodate such a journey and absence, no matter what my advisors believe. Send word to me when the time for your departure grows nearer."

"If nothing else, at least now we know how to escape your Hall unseen."

Thranduil threw back his head and laughed. "And I shall caution Aduial to be quieter this next time."

"You do that!"

The two grinned at each other, and then exchanged a warrior's clasp before turning away, each now on their own, solitary paths.

Thranduil spent a few moments tying the laces back so that the bundles on Saerôl's back wouldn't slip or fall open, his mind spinning. He had two years to come up with new ways to needle his traveling companion, because there was no doubt in his mind that Glóin would be spending his time preparing his arguments as well. There was no way that he could allow the Dwarf to come out the victor _all_ the time. _And_ he had two years to decide on a proper consequence to repay Haldír for his insolence.

He could hardly wait.


End file.
